Desenrascanco
by Parapluie Lire
Summary: Still spinning on her heel mid step, Hermione landed outside a muggle apartment building. The little voice that told her that that she was a horrible mother quieted. She was escaping to her own little impossible memories. The only thing that separated her life from her daughter's was the lack of regret. Hermione can't decide, stuck between two worlds while Rose is too content.


**A/N: written for the Quidditch Cup. Shakespeare(quote/line), burying(prompt) and friction(prompt) for the Appleby Arrows.**

******_Desenrascanco:_** (Portuguese): The improvisation of a haphazard but effective solution or plan at the last minute. [Taken from Rhead-a-holic, thanks Lynn!]

* * *

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.  
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

* * *

"Morning."

"Hey Love, what are you doing?"

"Work. House elves aren't going to free themselves."

"Let it go. They _like_ serving the greater species"

"Stop it. Deflate your ego. There is no _greater_ species. We are all equal and never. If I keep going strong someone is going to give out."

"Fine, whatever you want to believe."

* * *

Hermione Granger was forty nine; not yet fifty, but a ways off from being considered young. She'd lost her body to her three children. Maxine, her seven year old daughter, was crying when she stood up and exited the house she had called home for decades.

Cheerios tossed all over the place, it was no wonder why Hermione snapped. Ron was late coming home. He complained and she yelled in response. Maxine threw herself into a fit. Out of all her children Maxine was the longest, neediest, and most obnoxious.

Even so, Maxine didn't deserve to have a mother as she. No one did, but life didn't work like that.

* * *

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"C'mon, even the almighty you needs a break."

"No."

"Yes."

"Fine, if you _insist_."

* * *

Rosie had been a polite child. Wearing bows and skirts full of tulle, Rose had only ever begged for books.

Hugo had been quiet. Not noisy, just existing and not calling attention to himself. So different from himself now. Aged and in his prime, Hugo was one of the biggest movers and shakers of the modern Wizarding world. A party wasn't really a party until Hugo Weasley arrived.

Maxine was in a category all her own.

It had been too much chaos. Hermione deployed a tactic she constantly relied upon at work. Take a step back and evaluate. Which was exactly what she did.

Maybe she didn't have to scream and yell as she slammed the house door,mrushing away. Ron shouted in the distance for her to come back, but there was only so much he could do with the seven year old hanging off his torso.

_Irresponsible? Yes, completely._

_Irreversible? Quite possible._

Regardless, Hermione shrugged on her sweater and apparated away. Still spinning on her heel mid step, Hermione landed outside a muggle apartment building. The little voice that told her that that she was a horrible mother quieted.

* * *

"Are you awake?"

"Now I am."

"Do you love me?"

"Well, I-"

"It's a simple question: Do you Hermione Jean Granger love me?"

"..."

"Fine."

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

* * *

What happened next was purely reflexive. Jamming her wand out, a quick alohamora did the job adequately and the door creaked open.

She rode an elevator (How long had it been since she had been in the muggle world? Obviously much too long) up to the second flood where she continued her search for apartment 205.

The magical wards were pathetic. It was too easy, a simple disillusionment charm, cooling hex and voila, she was in. Walking through a messy kitchen, Hermione idly wondered what had happened to the meticulous daughter she remembered.

Then again, it had been eight years since she had last seen Rosie.

* * *

"Where have you been?"

"Thinking."

"About what? Come to bed."

"I'm busy."

"You're staring at burning logs."

"Hence thinking."

"_Slytherins_-okay, fine. Watch wood."

"Fine."

* * *

The whole flat was empty, or so Hermione thought, before she entered the bedroom.

He looked exactly like his father. Fair skin, high cheek bones and the traditional English air about him.

Hermione almost forgot to wonder what he was doing there.

The truth was too painful to admit. She knew; it was clear the way his arms looped around Rosie's waist, but without verbalizing it. It was all to clear but when one should speak they got perspective. Hermione didn't want to shine a light on the misty corner of her wonderous mind that belonged forever to Draco. When people talked they got their story's out. Whether of love or hate, the tale straightened out and truth, even if it was only the smallest grain, revealed itselves.

No words ment it wasn't true. and it wasn't true. _Not really_.

Once the words would leave her mouth she knew she would face reality. The illusions of time would fall. Crashing down upon her, what she lost and everything she gained would crack and destabilize, all too ready to blow and bury her six feet under.

She would drown but Hermione was smarter than that and kept one foot in the doorway. Keeping her options open like she was prone to do. It was an instinct. A _survival_ instinct.

She could flee and escape. She could multi-task too. All possible by her dexterous and flexibility. Adjusting and adapting, she survived the muggle purge of '95. The survivors of the ordeal didn't level unscathed.

Hermione was lucky, she had all her limbs and full use of her voice. It wasn't forever dry and cracked from her screams, but her brain was marred. Her beautiful mind had claw marks and gashes.

With a half in both realities, Hermione was unstoppable. When the veil weakened, stabed and slashed, it was a whole other story.

Hairline fractures creaked up the side and expanded. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

"You're hurting me!"

"Can't you see we're a waste of time!"

"Get off!"

"This won't ever work out. Your little friends don't even know about me do they!"

"Let go."

"They don't, do they."

"I said, let me go!"

"Figured, you can't even commit outside the bedroom."

"_Reducto!_"

...

"This is done."

"Fine! No, I'm done with _your_ shit Draco Malfoy! This never even began!"

* * *

So she stood in silence.

Memories of Draco were clear but fading. She wanted to remember him and their nightly visits accompanied with fine wine but she was glad she didn't.

Days would go by and she would wonder, crying out to an empty house, why. Why didn't she say three simple words: I love you.

The truth hurt. She had been a coward, afraid to more on with her life. afraid of the reaction and now, she lived the result.

Weeks would pass and Hermione would desensitize herself to the issues building up in her mind. She would be happy, helping kids with homework, giving Ron quick pecks on the cheek before work; honestly, what ever had been said, she still loved him. Passionately and fiercely but Draco was the what-if.

Mysterious, school rivals, and ex-tormentor, Draco Malfoy was and still is, a puzzle even her brilliant mind couldn't solve. And she loved him for it.

* * *

"I'm just here to get my stuff."

"Here."

"Oofh- Okay, fine. See you Malfoy."

"I hope not."

"I was being polite, try it sometime."

* * *

Hermione backed out, closing the door on the sleeping couple that she no longer knew. Rose didn't need her anymore and Scorpius would do better in life than to know the woman who had temporarily incapacitated his father's heart is his girlfriend's mum.

Rose had been out of the family for too long. What would be more embarrassing than waking her daughter and her boyfriend to awkwardly say hi and explain why she had broken into their apartment. Not to mention she did so at such an ungodly hour. Much too messy and besides, Hermione doubted that Rose even knew she had a sister.

Before she left Hermione folded the socks, washed the dishes and dusted the mantel. Then off she went back home to soothe the friction and re-sort out her life starting with herself. She would help Rose properly later.

* * *

"How's Astoria?"

"Good. Ron?"

"Good."

"You?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine."

* * *

When Rose Malfoy woke up from an odd dream of her mother, she smiled at the arms that circled her body.

The dream was lost in the early hanging fog of her morning routine as she made her way to the kitchen. The dishes were clean. Vexing as Rose never did the dishes. It was always Scorpius who did the washing.

Rose knew for a fact the Scorpius went straight to bed with her. Perhaps he had woken up early and done them.

She didn't know and didn't care to prod. What reason did she have to do so? It just wasn't reasonable. Anyone who knew Rose Malfoy knew she was practical, efficient and nothing less.

Married for a year and engaged for three, it had been a while since she'd talked to her parents and she had no intention to. Her life was set.

Perfectly organized with Al visiting once a month. That was all she needed. That _and_ the tall blonde still in bed.

* * *

"Your funeral was lovely you know, you would have liked it."

...

"It was too soon and this is too late."

...

"Goodbye."

* * *

Leaning agents the elevator wall on her decent back down to ground level, Hermione closed her eyes. It would be seconds until the doors reopened but since then she was escaping to her own little impossible memories.

_He smiled against her skin. He wasn't even aware but he smiled in his sleep. Sitting perfectly still in bed it was hard to relax._

_ Draco slept on but his smile remained. If nothing else, he would seek out the littlest things. Drawing out teaspoons of joy on which he lived on. He was what Hermione wanted to be. But she wasn't. _

Unlike now, her life had been beautifully perfect but even if she still was that young teen who was to say that she wouldn't be in the same position.

Did she long for a change in scenery? Or just a different parter to experience it? Either way, she stepped carefully out of the muggle metal box, pushed open the door and walked out and away into the cruel, bitter night.

Wind circled and blew her hair into her eyes but Hermione kept walking. She kept wading in the mud puddle of her existence.

Never fully in or out, nor pure or trashed. Spattered with dirt, she voyaged and forged a path from twisted silver.

Not quite smooth, not easily broken and sturdy. Hermione Granger would last and survive; even if everyday was a clouded hailstorm, she would prevail. Wind, Water, Fire, the mighty elements were nothing to her. They fumbled at her feet and gave in.

Hermione Granger-Weasley never gave in. One thing she had over him, her determination. Not to the dents in her silver or cuts in her mind. Hell, she's still campaigning for elven rights.


End file.
